


Unexpected Adventures in Espionage

by Ophelia_j



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Eve Moneypenny is a Good Friend, James is in need of assistance, M/M, q is a hacker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_j/pseuds/Ophelia_j
Summary: AU. Q is a free lance programmer doing  the odd bit of hacking on the side and deliberately keeping away from the security services. Until a certain special agent crosses his path and he gets drawn into a world he'd always vowed to stay away from.





	Unexpected Adventures in Espionage

After the third mission, Bond began to suspect Moneypenny might have been right. She’d said, with no little sarcasm, ‘Three missions in a row, James. Objectives achieved, mission parameters adhered to, no unnecessary death and destruction. You’ve even managed to bring yourself, and your tech, home intact. Don’t make a habit of it, will you? You do have a reputation to protect.’

Bond had smiled back, leaning casually on the far side of her desk. ‘Fear not, dear Moneypenny, normal service will soon be resumed. We all need our downtime, you know.’

She had rolled her eyes fondly at that. ‘Yes, maybe your guardian angel needed a vacation.’

James knew he was lucky. But in espionage, as in many areas of life, luck followed hard work, preparation, and skill. Bond wasn’t just lucky. He was actually that good. But ability alone didn’t explain his three previous missions. Everything that could have gone right, did. One mission like that, now and again, was only fair, as far as Bond was concerned. Two was a blessing, and three was… well three was bloody suspicious. He had said as much, obliquely, to Tanner, who had stared at him like he’d grown another head. ‘Only you, Bond, could punch a gift horse in the mouth.’

So not anything to do with Six then. Good. He had wondered, for a few insane seconds, if they were giving him easier missions. Some kind of wind down to retirement, or subtle question mark against his competence. Apparently not. Which just left…what? Moneypenny’s guardian angel? Bond sighed to himself. Perhaps, it was just possible, that in this one instance, he was being too much the paranoid agent. And he’d just seen the briefing for his next mission. There was very little chance of it not going comprehensively to shit, really quite quickly. With that cheering thought in mind, he headed home.

\------------

Q rubbed his eyes, wondering, not for the first time this week, whether the prescription on his glasses needed updating. _I should really get around to checking that. At this rate I’ll need lenses like a deep space telescope just to see my screen._

He was definitely working too hard. Long hours, no breaks, high levels of stress. He had never had so much fun. But it couldn’t go on indefinitely. He needed a break, and this seemed like a good moment to take one. Bond wasn’t due in the field for another 24 hours, and dedicating much of that time to sleep seemed like a truly inspired plan. On the other hand, he had actual, paying work to do. And James Bond was not his responsibility. He’d never even met the man. Quite how he’d become unofficial mission aide to the world’s most reckless secret agent was something of a blur. Although how Bond had managed to stay alive this long without his help was a bonafide bloody miracle. Perhaps the denizens of Q-branch weren’t as hopeless as he thought. Or their field agents really were that good. Bond certainly was. If prone to wandering off mission and going his own merry way about things, thank you very much.

Q shuffled from his workspace into the kitchen, reviewed the selection of teas in his cupboard, and decided on this month’s selection from his mail order tea club. Whilst the kettle boiled, he brought up the coding he’d started for the firewall for a fairly well-known bank. It was truly frightening how bad IT security was in the financial world. However, this bank would soon be as technologically secure as Q could make them, which was to say, virtually impenetrable. And on that day, they’d be getting a new customer. No sense in doing all this work and not benefitting from it yourself. Also, Q approved of their record in the corporate social responsibility department. There was much less outright corruption and social exploitation than he’d usually expect in a profit-driven organisation of this size. Which was why he’d accepted the brief in the first place.

Q could afford to be picky. At his prices, he didn’t need many clients. But you got what you paid for. He was, demonstrably, the best in the business. And word had got around. If internet security was your thing, then the mysterious ‘Q’ was the person to hire. And if you didn’t, you would always know that there was at least one person out there who could bring your entire system down on a whim.

Four hours later, Q put the final touches to his coding, uploaded the new firewall to the bank’s system, and left a message on a highly secure internet board that he would appreciate it, should anybody have the time, if they could hack the system. Somebody would try, and they’d fail, but the attempt would assure Q that his work was solid. Not that he suspected it wasn’t, but the world of elite hacking was a small one, and he always liked to be sure he was still ahead of the game. Having others know it too was no small bonus.

An alert popped up on his screen. The security system at Bond’s flat had been deactivated. The agent was home, safe and sound. _Another job well done_ , Q thought, smiling. Then frowned when the system didn’t reactivate. Sighing, he reached over, tapped out a command, and reactivated the system. There was no way, having worked so hard to keep Bond safe in the field, he was going to allow him to be killed in his own flat. The possibility was admittedly remote, but given Bond’s propensity for making enemies, and the frankly dire state of MI6 firewalls, not as remote as Q would have liked.

\--------

Scotch in hand, Bond sauntered from the kitchen to the living space, thinking again that he should probably do something to make it more lived in, and knowing that he almost certainly wouldn’t. He put his reaction time down to the scotch, being home, and tiredness, but he was one pace into the living home before his conscious mind registered the change. Stepping back into the hall, he stared at the security panel near the door. The system had reactivated. _Maybe it’s an upgrade_ , he thought, _automatic rearming_. Strange not to be informed of a change to the home systems though. He’d check with Q-branch at his tech briefing tomorrow.

\-------

_Two months earlier._

One computer. That was all Q needed. One bloody computer. And he couldn’t get to it. The situation was farcical. He had been following the trail for months. Mr X, as he liked to style himself (and really, even without the people trafficking, drug running, and money laundering, he deserved to be arrested for that spectacular lack of imaginative flair) was the head of what Q now knew was an impressively international criminal enterprise with more front than Blackpool prom, and a list of near misses with law enforcement as long as his arm. Various smaller subsidiaries of the organisation had been investigated and shut down, only to pop up somewhere else in amazingly short order. What law enforcement, in this case, MI6, really needed, was enough evidence to bring the whole thing down from the top. Only they weren’t going to get it. Not least because they weren’t looking for it. The electronic trail linking all of these disparate failed organisations together was shadowy at best, identifiable only through various branches of local law enforcement, and if Q hadn’t been this good, he wouldn’t have found it either.

Working backwards, he had pulled together details on branches around the globe, but they were clearly being co-ordinated from somewhere. Somewhere had turned out to be a beautiful, isolated villa in the south of France, criminal masterminding clearly paying well. And that was where the trail had dried up. Because the computer in the well-appointed study, and the servers attached, and the bloody sodding internet connection, were all turned off. Turned off. Who did that?

Q had been spying on the place through their CCTV (security being the only system connected to the house intranet, presumably to allow the plentiful security personnel to survail from a privacy allowing distance) and through their nearest neighbours secured (ha) wireless broadband, the signal of which Q had had to boost himself. Despite this, there was no way to access the computers in the house unless somebody actually physically turned the home IT system on. Which would have to happen eventually, Q assumed. Who lived without internet? But it had been a week, and no joy.

Q was aware that what he was doing was illegal. But given the scale of illegality being perpetrated by the organisation he was after, a bit of unwelcome electronic snooping barely counted. And if he could bring their activities to an end by doing so, well, that outweighed any legal dubiousness. Obviously, actual law enforcement felt differently, which was why his information would be fed to them anonymously. But helping them gave Q a rush that he didn’t get from his legal activities. Went some way, he felt, towards balancing the ledger of his highly illegal hacking in his younger days.

However, this particular experience was becoming immensely frustrating. Tonight wasn’t looking especially hopeful either. There was yet another party being thrown. Apparently criminal masterminding wasn’t as socially isolating as Q had supposed. The villa was full of exquisitely dressed, expensively bejewelled people drinking, eating, and not fretting about the lack of home internet. Philistines. Except. Q sat up straighter.

There was someone heading for the computer room. Not security. They had done their pass of the room only five minutes before, and were finishing up their sweep right now in the east wing. This, judging by the beautifully tailored suit, was a guest. In an area of the house not open to guests. _Lost, maybe?_ The guest started trying doors. _Not lost then_. Looking. For what? Acting on impulse, Q hacked the CCTV footage, looped a picture of the empty corridor, and sent it to the security room. The guest had had five minutes before security would be back in their room. Now he had until the next sweep. At least an hour. _You’re welcome_ , Q thought. _Please don’t be looking for the gents._

Q watched the man move down the corridor. Clearly, not his first sneaking-around rodeo. He might not know which room he was looking for, but he knew where the hallway CCTV was. Q couldn’t get a good enough look at his face to run recognition. So he pulled up databases of personnel and criminals from local and international security organisations and waited for his opportunity. If he had an ally here, he wanted to know who it was.

He sat forward in his chair as the man approached the computer room. There was a camera aimed at the door from inside the room. As soon as the door opened he would know who this was, and hopefully, what they were doing. The man opened the door, glanced inside, and slipped through, checking all corners before moving straight to the computer on the centre desk. Before he reached it, Q’s facial recognition software had thrown up a match. From MI6.

‘Hello Special Agent Bond,’ Q muttered to himself. ‘Fancy meeting you here. Please tell me you have enough technological know-how to turn a computer on.’

To his immense frustration, the agent began going through the desk. Q tsked in irritation, wondering if he could make the agent turn the computer on through sheer force of will. Ideally, he’d turn on the bank of servers too, but that might be pushing Q’s luck for one night. Boosted stolen wireless might be enough. As the agent searched, Q hacked MI6 and checked Bond’s mission parameters. He’d not been aware that MI6 knew anything about this villa, or Mr X.

And they didn’t. Bond’s mission wasn’t, it transpired, anything to do with this party at all. It was, in point of fact, over, having been concluded successfully in Lyon the previous day. Bond, officially, was on his way back to England.

Q stared at the screen. ‘Agent Bond,’ he muttered aloud, ‘what the hell are you doing?’

On the screen, Bond straightened, and looked around the room, eyes falling on the computer. Q held his breath as the agent leaned over and turned it on. Q gave a shout of triumph and dived for his keyboard. Seconds later he let out a hiss of despair. The wireless signal he’d hacked just wasn’t strong enough. He could get into the security feed, but this computer was on the other side of the massive villa. He didn’t have enough signal. The place was some kind of bloody mobile internet blackspot. Q swore. On the screen, Bond was trying to bypass the computer’s security. He was going about it in a vaguely competent way, for an MI6 field agent, but he wasn’t going to succeed.

‘Leave it, and turn the servers on.’ Q shouted at the oblivious man on the screen. ‘Leave it and turn the bloody servers on.’

Unsurprisingly, Bond didn’t respond. In his defence, the servers were hidden in an antique cabinet to his left, and not immediately apparent, but still. In the corner of Q’s screen, the small bar indicating his connection to the distant computer flicked on and off. Tiny amount of connection, no connection. Q glared at it. He hated that bar. It gave him no chance of hacking and downloading data, but maybe…. Q pulled up the simplest, smallest message programme he knew. Typed in a message, sent it, and waited, watching the damn bar flicker in and out of existence.

He knew immediately when the message went through.

\-----

Bond glared at the screen, frustrated. This really wasn’t his area of expertise. He knew enough to get past basic user name and password level security, but his bypass wasn’t working, and he didn’t know enough to know why. It might, under other circumstances, have been possible to get a remote connection to tech support back at MI6, but officially he wasn’t here. Which was just one more annoyance in a highly irritating week. His international criminal conspiracy theory had been roundly dismissed by M. He had actually implied, in fact, that Bond was inventing more than was there because he was bored. Bored. Bond’s jaw clenched again at the thought. Arrogant git. Just when he’d been beginning to warm to Mallory as well. He’d show him bored.

He huffed out a breath, ready to try again, as a message box popped up in the corner of the screen.

_Agent Bond, please switch on the servers in the cabinet to your left._

Bond recoiled in disbelief, scanning the room again, as his hand went automatically for his holster.

\------

Q tensed as Bond recoiled. Please just do it, he thought. Don’t be a stubborn arse.

Bond recovered very fast. Even as Q finished his thought, he was typing.

_Who is this?_

Q typed back. _A friend. We’re on the same side. I’m remote accessing this computer but I don’t have the bandwidth to help you with the encryption without the servers. Please turn them on._

He saw the message received, then: _What side are we on exactly?_

Q rolled his eyes. _The side where Mr X and all his loathsome compatriots are prevented from ruining any more lives. The side of the angels._

On the screen he saw Bond raise his eyebrows and type, _Well that makes one of us._

For one heart-stopping moment Q thought he’d lost what little chance of co-operation he had. Then Bond seemed to reach a decision. In one fluid movement he stepped across to the cabinet, opened it, and threw the switches. Lights flickered across Q’s screen as the servers hummed to life.

Q fell on his keyboard like a predator. He ripped through what little protection their system had in seconds and began to pull apart their organisation, crippling all their computer-based activity across the globe, whilst simultaneously downloading anything and everything incriminating he could find to a separate secured network where he could interrogate the data later.

On his other screen, he could see Bond staring at the computer as code and files flew past too fast for him to read. _What are you doing?_ appeared in Q’s open message window.

 _Bringing them down_ , Q typed one-handed. For good measure he added a smiley face.

On the screen, Bond frowned. _I thought we were working together?_

_We are. You got me in. Where would you like all this lovely incriminating data sent? Would MI6 be interested, do you think?_

_I think they would, yes._

_I’ll tell them it’s from 007, shall I? Or are you ‘off the clock’ on this one?_

On the screen, Q saw Bond freeze. _Who is this?_

On his second monitor, an alert began to flash. Q changed cameras. And swore.

_Servers triggered alarm. Guards coming. Get out._

Bond’s reaction time was impressive. He had his gun out and was moving across the room before Q even realised the message had gone through. He cracked the door and checked the corridor. Q watched, expecting him to disappear. To his astonishment, Bond came back to the computer before slipping out of the door, away from the guards, and into the night.

_Thanks. JB._

Q grinned at the empty room.

\------

Two weeks later, Bond was in Russia. The mission had been originally slated for 006, but Bond had requested it, and given that he was still basking in the credit for smashing Mr X’s people trafficking and money laundering enterprise with no help from MI6, Mallory had been feeling generous. Bond liked Russia, and had been pleased to come back. Until right now, when he was sorely regretting it. He pounded down another corridor. He could hear pursuit in the form of footfalls – multiple people – and gunshots – multiple guns – getting closer. Fortunately, the plans of the complex supplied by Q branch had been accurate and he knew he was nearly out. Out, back to his car, and away. Easy. Just don’t get shot on the way.

The door to the underground car park appeared as expected. It also appeared to be locked shut. With an electronically controlled deadbolt which Bond stood no chance of forcing. Not expected. A panel next to it invited Bond to show his ID pass. Also not expected. He’d lost it in a fist fight with the owner of the gun he was now carrying, but he wasn’t supposed to have needed it on the way out. Shouts behind him got closer. He was cornered and outnumbered. He debated the value of losing a bullet to try and shoot out the panel. More in hope than expectation he raised the weapon. Which was when the panel beeped, the door slid invitingly open, and Bond ran.

\-----

Q watched James’s car lose its pursuers and fade into the rapidly darkening Russian night. Such a shame all that traffic had been in their way. Amazing how much chaos would be caused with just a few bad signals. He leaned back and exhaled slowly. His heart rate was absurdly high and he was sweating. How the hell did field agents do it? He felt like he’d run a marathon, and all he’d done was monitor and assist. Jesus. He grinned at the ceiling. Hell of an adrenaline rush though.

He had told himself that it was just tying up loose ends: getting into MI6’s systems to check that the rounding up of Mr X’s empire was proceeding apace. It was. So then it was just natural concern for a – albeit temporary – colleague that had made him look up Agent Bond’s next mission. And then just natural curiosity that had led him to track Bond down and see how that was going. Boredom with his current coding job had led him to keep an eye on Bond, and then, when things had started to go awry, well, it was only right that a colleague should step in and help. They were, after all, on the same side.

And nerve shredding though it had been, he had, he felt, been of some assistance. Unlike, he thought with a stab of irritation, Bond’s actual colleagues. Was that the level of back up agents could usually expect in the field? How the hell had Bond managed to survive so long? Although Bond himself did at least partly answer that question. Q hadn’t given field agents a great deal of thought, outside of books and movies, but he hadn’t expected much more than intellectual and physical prowess and an ability to blend in. He had, it seemed, sorely underestimated. Reading between the lines of his personnel file and field reports, Bond was smart, knowledgeable, efficient, ruthless, cunning, charming, a world class liar, an Olympic standard shot, and had the reaction times of a cobra. In short, significantly more impressive than Q had expected, and, more importantly, an asset to British intelligence worth protecting. Only he didn’t seem to be protected. Not enough for Q’s liking, anyhow.

Q didn’t consider himself especially patriotic. But hacking was an international activity and he’d seen how the rest of the world operated. Their government was worse than some, but better than most. The way of life they defended was worth defending, he thought. And he was glad there were people like James around to do it. At least he was MI6, not MI5. Q’s own experience with MI5 had been traumatic. Apparently if you were even moderately talented in his field and didn’t immediately declare yourself at the beck and call of the national intelligence services, you were a threat. Q had gone underground and stayed there. Was helping an MI6 field agent a risk to his hard-won invisibility? Yes. Was it worth it? Probably. One mission at a time, mind. He planted a small, invisible programme in the computer of one Eve Moneypenny to alert him whenever James Bond was assigned a mission. There didn’t seem to be much in MI6 that didn’t cross Moneypenny’s desk.

Which was how Q ended up, one week later, tracking Bond through the offices of a major international corporation in Japan. He loved Japan. No other nation in the world embraced modern technology like the Japanese, and Q was in his element. So far, his assistance had been only required to open doors and divert the attention of security systems, but they were fairly well defended so it had been at least a bit of a challenge. Now, however, he was comfortably inside the system, and security were well off the scent. He wondered if he should make the coffee machine produce coffee just as Bond passed, or would that be showing off? Still, Bond had been up for 27 straight hours now, so it probably wouldn’t go amiss. He tapped a few commands and waited. On the 20th floor, Bond swivelled, attention and gun sight drawn by the unexpected noise in the empty office.

Q watched as James walked carefully over to the coffee machine, drew out the cup, sniffed it cautiously, sipped it, then knocked back the whole cup before continuing on his way. Q grinned. He was really starting to like James Bond. The man took absolutely anything in stride.

\------

As his plane left Haneda airport’s main runway, Bond watched the lights of Tokyo out of his window. That had gone…. really well. Impressively well. He’d already had a message of congratulations from M. The man’s relief had been palpable. Usually, there was nothing James liked better than reminding M who his best field agent was. It was badly needed credit for when the next mission went….less than ideally. But this one didn’t feel right. Like the credit wasn’t really his. For the third mission in a row. Something was off. He was going to find out what.

\------

Bond stared at the security system in his flat. The rearmed security system. All his instincts were telling him that there was something going on. Listening to his instincts had kept him alive a lot longer than was likely. Perhaps this couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He took his phone out and dialled, sipping his scotch whilst keeping an eye on the lights on the security panel.

‘James, its one a.m. This had better be vital to the interests of the nation.’ Moneypenny’s voice was unimpressed.

‘Oh come on, you weren’t asleep.’

‘Hardly the point. I’m not at work, and neither are you.’

‘Just answer me one question.’

‘Shoot.’

Bond smiled. ‘Rather me than you.’

‘Oh, shut up. Do you want the answer to this question or not?’

‘Have Q-branch upgraded our home security systems? Mine has taken to automatically arming itself.’

He could hear Moneypenny’s frown. ‘Nothing has come past me.’

 _That’s a definite ‘no’ then_ , Bond thought.

She continued, ‘I’ll have someone look at it. Although if someone’s trying to get to you, they’d be turning the system off, rather than on.’

‘My thoughts exactly. Don’t worry about it, it’s probably just a glitch, I’ll mention it to security sometime.’

‘Hold on, was that it? You rang me at one am for that?’

‘Goodnight, beautiful Eve.’ James heard swearing as he rang off.

Sitting on his couch, James swirled the scotch in his glass, mentally reviewing his last three missions. France, Russia, Japan. All successes. In every one, technology had been his friend. Lights had changed. Doors had opened. CCTV had missed him. Security guards had been diverted to the wrong place. Traffic signals had changed at the right time. Computers had done everything he’d wanted. Security systems had magically disarmed themselves. His eyes drifted back to his hallway, security lights still glowing steadily. And it had started in France. He had a sudden flash of a message box on a strange computer screen. _On the side of the angels._ Bond frowned. Had he somehow acquired a technological guardian angel? It seemed to fit the facts. But it was a mystery. 007 didn’t like mysteries. Not knowing all the facts got you killed. Or captured. Not acceptable risk.

\-----

Dubai. The Burj-al-Arab. There’s one advantage to being a field agent, Q thought, you sometimes get to stay in some nice places. He had been momentarily discombobulated by the security systems in the cutting-edge building, but it had been nothing a few cups of his new favourite tea couldn’t deal with. Now he was watching Bond be shown to his suite, and keeping an eye on Bond’s mark, obliviously conducting an arms deal two floors above.

Bond’s appointment with the mark wasn’t until the next day, so Q expected that he would follow his usual procedure of familiarising himself with the surroundings. He was surprised then when Bond sat at the impressively well-appointed desk in his suite, and took out his MI6 supplied laptop.

Q took the opportunity to examine the setup of the laptop whilst Bond opened the software he was looking for. Really, this wasn’t great. Surely tech used in the field needed to be better secured than this. The protection was woeful. And that boot up had just taken valuable seconds that surely couldn’t be spared in a crisis situation.

 _Are you there?_ Bond was messaging someone. Q was so wrapped up in critiquing the set up of Bond’s laptop it took him almost a full minute to realise there was no reply. And another to realise that James hadn’t actually sent the message to anyone. It was just sitting there on his screen.

Bond typed again. _Hello. Are you there?_

Q stared at him in confusion. On his screen, Bond was sitting patiently, watching the laptop screen, presumably awaiting a reply. But he wasn’t going to get one. Mainly because hadn’t sent the message to anyone. Bond wasn’t stupid. By the standards of people who weren’t Q, or professional hackers, he actually wasn’t terrible with computers. So he was clearly aware that no one was receiving that message.

Bond typed again. _Come on. I know you’re out there. I think it’s time we talked._

Q felt himself go cold. That messenger programme was the one he himself had used to talk to Bond in France.

Bond tried again. _After all, we’re on the side of the angels. Mostly._

Not coincidence then. Shit. Q felt his heart rate spike, and fought the urge to pull his surveillance, shut down his system and hide. He took several deep breaths. _Think_. MI6 weren’t tracking this conversation. He knew that. The only interaction they currently had with Bond’s laptop was GPS tracking. So this was just Bond. Had he been prompted by MI6? Q’s instinct was no, but what if he was wrong? He couldn’t afford to be traced.

On the screen, Bond’s neutral expression had faltered slightly. He was beginning to look…. disappointed. Q ran an unsteady hand through his hair. He thought of all the times James had just accepted Q’s intervention in the field. Not just accepted, but jumped in with both feet. He thought of Bond, standing with Walther PPK in hand, at 3am, knocking back Q-supplied coffee in a deserted skyscraper, one floor from his mark, and two from security. Bond, outnumbered and outgunned in a Russian hideout, calmly facing an almost certainly literal dead end.

On his screen, Bond stood up. He reached out and rested his hand on the top of the screen. Q held his breath, convinced he was about to slam it shut. Instead, the agent leaned down, and with one finger, typed: _please_.

Q thought, _oh for fuck’s sake._ Then he accessed Bond’s messaging programme.

_I thought I was the only one on the side of the angels._

The reaction on the CCTV was gratifyingly immediate. Bond dropped back into the chair, all studied casualness gone.

 _I thought I was crazy for a minute there. You’ve been tracking me? Helping me out?_ Even through the screen, Q could feel Bond’s focus. It was slightly exhilarating.

_As much as I can. You’re like a danger magnet. How you’re still alive, I have no idea._

Bond smiled grimly. _I get that a lot._

 _I can imagine._ Q found himself smiling.

On the screen, he saw Bond straighten in his chair. _So how are you helping me? Who do you work for?_

Q frowned. _Well, a) I’m just that good. b) Me. and c) You’re welcome._

Bond raised an eyebrow. _You? There’s just you?_

_I'm starting to think that dealing with you is much easier when you don’t talk._

That earned him a brief flash of that grin. _I get that a lot too._ Bond paused. Then typed sharply. _Not to be ungrateful, but the idea that anyone could follow me round like you’ve apparently been doing? You can understand why that would be disturbing to someone in my line of work. Even more so if just one person can do it._

Q was nodding along as James finished typing. Y _es. I do get that. And I’m sorry. You weren’t meant to notice me after France. And if it’s any comfort, I don’t think there’s anyone else who can do what I do. I’m kind of the best in my field._

_Kind of?_

_Just being self-effacing. You’ve nothing to worry about. There’s no one else looking out for you, I can tell you that. Not even MI6, most of the time. Is this your usual level of field support?_

Bond looked bemused as he typed: _It’s pretty standard, yes. Think you could do better?_

Q glared at the screen, affronted. _I’ve been supporting you for the last three missions. What do you think?_

_That 3am coffee your doing?_

_Guilty_

_Then yes._ Q saw James go to type, then stop, then start again. Intrigued, he saw: _And thank you. For all of it. Especially Russia._

Oh.

_It’s fine. Just didn’t think shooting the door would work. Thought I’d better step in. You are quite the valuable asset, after all._

_Thank you, anonymous stranger. Any chance of a name? You have me at a disadvantage._

_I’ve seen your work, 007. No-one ever has you at a disadvantage._

_Flattery will get you everywhere, but name?_

Q paused. _Look, I know how this is going to sound, but it’s what most people call me, so…. Q._

_Seriously?_

_I know, but to be fair, I picked it years ago when this particular situation seemed unlikely to arise._

_Now I’m thinking of you as an elderly man._

_Well, you’d be half right._

_Young man then._ On screen, Bond smiled. _Now we’re getting somewhere._

Q saw Bond’s smile. His heart rate, which had dropped, began to climb again. This was a really bad idea. He couldn’t have James Bond, MI6 Special Agent, license to kill, interested in him. That way lay prison time at best, and ‘disappearance’ at worst.

_Don’t you have a mark to be following? I assume MI6 didn’t send you for the views._

He saw Bond’s eyes narrow at the screen. _I’m supposed to believe you don’t know exactly why they sent me? If you couldn’t hack at least some of their systems, we wouldn’t be having this conversation._

‘Their’ systems. Was Bond trying to make a point? You and me, against the world? Q snorted. Hardly. Nice try though, he thought.

_If it’s any consolation, I only accessed files that would allow me to help you. And I have, in the past, attempted to point out flaws in their security systems in an effort to be helpful._

This earned him an eyebrow raise. _And by ‘point out’, you mean ‘hack’?_

Q rolled his eyes in return. _Not in order to access classified information, but there is no way to identify the manifold problems with their security without hacking the system. Beating their security shows its flaws._

Bond’s gaze had gone sharp. _To others?_

Q sighed. _No, just me. I always cover my tracks. I want the Intelligence Services to have better security, not worse. But they don’t accept outside help. If you don’t work for them, you’re the enemy._

_Not always._

Q frowned. _Don’t play naive with me, Agent Bond._

_I wasn’t. Why don’t you work for them?_

_That’s none of your business._ Q hesitated; about to recall the message, - he had, after all, pretty much made it Bond’s business - then let it stand. He added quickly: _But I’m not a criminal, if that’s what you’re thinking._

_I wasn’t thinking that._

Oh. Okay then. Q felt like he’d lost control of this interaction somewhere along the line. On another screen, Bond’s mark was handed a drink. Q typed. _What’s the plan with this dealer then?_

If the change of topic took Bond by surprise, it didn’t show. And to Q’s relief, he didn’t hesitate before typing: _Plant a bug and camera. Find out who he’s doing business with. Then stop him._

Q smiled in relief. _Need any help with that?_

Without waiting for a reply, he sent the feed from the mark’s room to Bond’s laptop. Bond sat forward, instantly alert.

Q continued. _The guy he’s dealing with is Nathanial Walter. Wanted by the CIA for arms dealing, and suspected of other unsavoury activities._

_Thanks Q. And I’m going to assume the CIA just volunteered that information._

_Let’s go with that._

_Any sound?_

_I’m not a bloody miracle worker, Bond. We still need that bug, and if you could plant the camera near that mirror over the settee, we’d get a much better angle on what’s in the cases._

Q hit send, then carried on typing. _Assuming he does all his deals in the living area, I think -_ Q glanced at the screen, and stopped typing.

Bond was sitting back and staring at the screen, a grin quirking his lips. Q reread his last message, then deleted his current one and typed carefully: _Although whatever you think best, obviously._

He looked back at the screen. Bond was laughing at him, the bastard.

_Just trying to help, Agent._

_And I’m grateful, Q._

_Well stop laughing at me then._

Bond froze, all the good humour falling away instantly. He glanced up, finding the CCTV. Bond’s gaze was calculating, exposing, and Q couldn’t move. Then just as quickly the agent’s face relaxed into smile. Q watched as his lips formed the words ‘Hi, Q’, and Q began to breathe again. Of course he can’t see me. Christ.

With unsteady hands, he typed: _Hello Agent Bond._

_You know, since you’re keeping me under such close scrutiny, I really think James would be fine._

The rest had been almost embarrassingly easy.

Obviously, Bond couldn’t carry a laptop with him at all times, so Q had diverted his messenger programme to Bond’s mobile, to facilitate communication ‘on the go’. Unfortunately, ‘on the go’ in Bond’s case frequently meant ‘running pursued by gunfire’, so Q was aware that the messenger communication plan contained more than a few flaws.

He was improvising by sending messages to electronic devices surrounding Bond, but the speed of hacking and electronic interaction was even wearing on Q’s exceptional skillset. At one point he had been reduced to changing an entire electronic billboard across three lanes of traffic to read, Turn left now! Which lacked subtlety, even by Bond’s standards.

You could just call me occasionally, Bond had texted in frustration at one point, which made for more speedy interaction, Q supposed, but likewise Bond couldn’t just wander around with a phone plastered to his ear all the time. Q hummed to himself. He needed to be able to communicate with Bond, without making it obvious. Some sort of micro tech, then.

As Bond’s plane descended to Heathrow, Q was pretty sure he’d cracked it.

\---

Bond couldn’t decide which was more unlikely: a package being sent to his home, or him actually being at home to receive it. The surly courier, however, didn’t seem to notice anything strange, taking a signature and handing over the parcel without batting an eye. Bond placed the package on his kitchen table and regarded it with suspicion. The brief concern he had entertained of it being anything delicate or explosive was allayed by the state of the box and the surliness of the delivery – if this was going to explode it would have done so as the world’s most unenthusiastic delivery man had hurled it into his van from a distance. That didn’t rule out chemical means of destruction though.

His mobile binged, interrupting his musings. An anonymous text read: Open it, pop the bud in your ear, and put the stud on your collar. I’m testing some tech for the field. Bond looked back at the box, eyebrows raised. A follow up text said: If you’re not busy, obviously. A third text said, somewhat redundantly: This is Q, by the way.

Bond shrugged to himself, and did as instructed.

\---

On Q’s end of the line, the previously silent speakers stuttered to life, relaying sound from a secure channel that had only one intended recipient. A rustling of packing material. Layers of same, as Q wasn’t going entrust his precious work to any courier without plenty of precautions. Then a few dull thuds as the mic stud was handled, then silence apart from deep regular breathing. Then his message service popped up with: Done.

Q felt his pulse stutter a little in his throat. He was about to speak to James Bond. It had all been pictures and messages so far. This felt...more real than that. He took a steadying breath, and then with all the casualness he could muster, managed: ‘Good morning, 007.’


End file.
